Getting rid of it!
by dnEehT
Summary: She is finally going to get rid of it! Then she could die peacefully. M cus' I'm paranoid I dun' really kno' wht genre am gunna' have ta' uese either *


Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Warnings: Ehh, well... nothing detailed? I think. I'm not sure actually, but it's gunna be rated M, just to be safe.

"Talking"

'thinking'

* * *

If she had to describe the man before her with one word, it would be godlike. Because, fucking hell, Zeus, Hercules and Ares combined could not look that good.

She was a virgin, but it wasn't like he was going to care about that. She could bet her entire fortune that he had taken many virgins to his bed, or whichever surface was closest.

He was big, she was almost afraid of thinking where that would go. Oh she might only be fifteen, but she knew perfectly well, even without anyone explaining anything to her. She did have ears after all, people aren't as careful about their words as they thought they were.

People, the Order, her 'friends', heck even her enemies thought she was a naive and innocent in all ways possible.

She had even heard her uncle talk to some acquaintance of his, promising, that as soon as she hit sixteen, she would start to 'earn her keep' or something like that. And what that was, wasn't hard to guess.

She had wanted to do this earlier, get rid of her virginity that is, but she hadn't found the right one. Not one who would be careful with her, as if she was apiece of fragile glass, just waiting to breakl, nor one that would tell the whole wizarding world that he had slept with her.

And now, she had finally found him. He was older, he had experience, he was big and he was a known criminal. If he slit her throat once he was done, he only made it easier for her.

After all, who wanted to save a bunch of cheep that talked behind her back and, when she had her attention on them, they would try to suck up to her.

He was moving towards her now, stalking forward, his eyes, glinting like those of a wolf that had spotted suitable prey.

She was lying on the bed, wholly naked, it made her feel horribly vulnerable and exposed. She had scars, either from her 'adventures' or her dear aunt and uncles punishments, and she had never been completley naked infront of anyone.

When she was done with this, she would have no regrets. Sirius might have made her his heir, Remus might have made her the godmother of his son, but she was done being used.

Everything she owned was going to be locked up, the Black inheritance only after old Padfoot had died, securely, in gringotts bank,never to be seen ever again. Just to spite the headmaster, who wanted fame and money, the Weasleys, except Bill, Charlie and the Twins, who wanted money and fame as well, and Hermione who wanted books and artefacts.

She could feel his body heat seeping into her skin as he hovered above her still form.

Once she had heard of him, she had searched, and challenged him, she had aperantly put up a good enough fight for him to not kill her then and there, when she lost, but she had been put on his 'interesting' list. Which was what she was going for.

True she wanted to die, but she didn't want to die just yet. Maybe he'd let her live. But that happening had a percentage of below one percent.

He was moving, his big, calloused hands on her hips, flipping her over so that she was on her hands and knees.

His voice was dark, low and dangerous, was husky when he ordered her to spread her legs.

He wasn't careful with her. He was rough and she bled, but her first orgasm was fast approaching.

She went over the edge screaming his name.

He cept on, thrusting into her pliant body. And she let him.

A second and a third orgasm had wracked through her body before he bit into her shoulder with abnormally sharp cainines, growling like the animal he was so often compared to, as he went over the edge as well.

She had almost dosed off,him still inside of her. But when he started to move his hips again, she was instantly awake.

She would have bruises on her bruises come tomorrow morning.

He flipped her over again. This time she was on her side, he was behind her, driving into her core again and again.

She was chanting his name like a prayer, when he sent her into sweet oblivion once again.

Now she was on her back, her legs hanging over his shoulders as he almost bent her in half.

At this rate, she mused dazedly, her gravestone would say death by sex.

The french had it right with petit mort. The little death.

He had her again and again, and when the sun began to peek through the window of the rundown little hotel, she had lost count on how many times he had sent her spirraling down the sweet depths of oblivion.

Yes, she had lost consciousness, at times. But they had been going at it for hours now!

He was still inside of her, now that they had finished.

And she slept, hoping to never have to wake up again.

* * *

I'm thinking of making this a story, but i'm not so sure. I mean I have the basic idea, but what should it lead to? what should happen?

*sigh* I suppose we will have to wait and see. v_v

Oh well, read and review.


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